Hammer of the Gods
by Jus Sum Dude
Summary: When a powerful Taur'i weapon falls into the hands of the 12 Colonies, all eyes in the galaxy turn to the children of Kobol and their robotic adversaries. (I'll be honest... I'm really just here for the space battles. What can I say? I like it when things go boom.)
1. Chapter 1

_HSNS Thor_

From the bridge of the _Daedalus_ almost a dozen people looked on the name, written in large, bold print, each letter the size of a house. Different emotions ran through each of their heads, ranging from impressed awe to proud satisfaction.

Jonas Quin, however, was slightly confused. "HSNS?"

"Homeworld Security Navy Ship," answered Richard Woolsey, crisp and business-like as ever. His normally faultless veneer of insouciant professionalism wavered as everyone on the bridge, from Colonel Caldwell to Doctor Daniel Jackson, looked at him incredulously. "It tested well with the focus groups!" defended the poor bureaucrat, conveniently omitting that he was the one who had suggested the acronym in the first place.

O'Neill clapped a hand on the back of the beleaguered man, smiling at his embarrassment. "Woolsey, I don't care if we have to name her the _SS Cracker Barrel_ ," remarked the man who had saved the Earth so many times it had practically become an annual routine for him, like filing his taxes or getting a check-up. "I'm just glad I finally got my big, honking spaceship!" Laughter echoed across the bridge as the veteran diplomat gave a knowing look of thanks to the veteran soldier. Woolsey knew a bailout when he saw it, and he wasn't so proud as to not acknowledge the small favor the General had just done him. For his part, Jack returned with a knowing look of his own as he quietly slipped away to the front of the bridge to stare at the goliath vessel whose christening they were celebrating.

The name stood there, a sense of strength and defiance radiating from it, like warmth from a sun. The moment was more sobering for the original members of SG-1, as they quietly paid tribute to the ship's namesake. For O'Neill, however, there was an even greater weight upon him, almost as heavy as the stars on his shoulders. To him, the God of Thunder was more than just an ally who had helped them out. He was a friend, a being who had risked his life several times to save the lives of people who weren't even his own. A deep regret panged within him, first that Thor wasn't here to see the very ship that was being named in his honor, and second that he hadn't been there that fateful day on Orilla, when the Asgard race ceased to be.

Colonel Cameron Mitchell carefully observed the four living legends of the SGC. He hadn't known Thor as well as they had, but he knew enough to tell what they were thinking. He caught the look in General O'Neill's eye, nodded understandingly, and turned around, perhaps to steal another glass of champagne.

"Hey guys, why so glum?!" Vala mal Doran had no such compunctions, however.

Jack and Daniel exchanged looks, and inwardly the archeologist sighed as he turned to deal with the incorrigibly corrupt "infiltration specialist."

Teal'c also turned as an IOA official began to speak with him, displaying a level of patience that would've made the Nox seem as temperamental as the Goa'uld. Lately, the struggles of politics as a member of the High Council of the Free Jaffa had forced him to develop skills he didn't even know he had, skills which he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to have. Among these were the ability to tolerate the constant pestering of civil servants. Teal'c, with no other choice, walked away from the front of the bridge, a little man in a suit shadowing his every step.

Major Evan Lorne figured he was only here because they wanted a representative of the Atlantis expedition to be there, and Shepherd was back in Pegasus, probably saving the galaxy again. Still, that didn't mean he wasn't glad to be here.

"Beautiful, ain't she?" said O'Neill, noticing the subdued look of awe and wonder on Lorne's face, despite the Major's best attempts at concealment.

Now discovered, Lorne didn't even try to not look like a child glimpsing through the candy store window. "Like a true mistress of battle, sir..."

"Well she should," remarked General Carter, with more than a hint of pride in her voice. "I designed her, after all."

"A fact that still makes McKay green with envy. He won't stop flooding my inbox with his carrier designs," said O'Neill.

Carter and Lorne ignored the exasperated look on O'Neill's face. "So what's her power output?" asked the Major.

Inwardly, Samantha approved Major Lorne's line of query. Most people would've immediately asked about her weapons, or her shielding, or her F-302B complement, or maybe even her hyperdrive. Those were the fun things, the flashy toys that most people would focus on. Few people would've thought to first ask about the background systems which quietly powered all those toys.

She pointed at the behemoth, 400 meter-long warship outside, shaped like a larger version of the _Daedalus_ -class battlecruiser. She gestured towards the two pods attached to the main body.

"We replaced the flight pods with massive Neutrino-Ion Generators."

Lorne's eyes widened. "Just like what the Asgard used on the _O'Neill_ -class?"

"Well, not quite," answered the resident genius. "We've barely skimmed the surface of the Asgardian database. The generators we've built are only capable of a fraction of the power output of the originals. But combined with the Asgard core, and our fusion and naquada reactors, and you have enough energy to power all of the Americas for about a year."

Major Lorne gave a low whistle. "The whole US?"

Carter smirked in a horrifyingly McKay-esque fashion. "Actually I was talking about the continents. North and South."

If he wasn't in uniform, Lorne would've sworn colorfully. Of course, O'Neill, being the highest ranking military officer on the bridge and on the planet, had no such qualms.

"Holy shit..."

Carter cast a withering gaze at her boss, before continuing with Lorne. Now that the essential stuff was covered, it was time to move on to the fun part, the aforementioned 'toys.'

"She's equipped with 80 point-defense railguns, arrayed to allow for 360 degrees of cover, firing 50 mm naquada-tipped, trinium coated rounds with depleted uranium cores, capable of firing 10,000 rounds per minute. In a pinch, each is equipped with an Asgardian energy-to-mass synthesizer. While it takes too much time and energy to create more complex munitions, it can create millions of titanium-tipped, lead core rounds on demand. She has three dozen Zero Gravity Missile Launch systems, able to launch every flavor of missile in the armory, from EMPs to Mark IX warheads."

Lorne was confused. "Zero Gravity Missile Launch system?"

O'Neill interrupted Carter before she could go into another long, technical spiel. "She just means the artificial gravity is shut off inside the missile silo to make it easier to launch."

Carter frowned. "It's not quite that simple, sir."

"Carter, I listened to you explain its inner workings for about an hour and a half last night. I KNOW it's not that simple."

Major Lorne figured he'd interrupt their lovers' quarrel. "Asgard Plasma Beam Cannons?"

Carter and O'Neill smiled, as if they'd been waiting all day for him to ask. Carter answered the Major's question. "Four facing forward, six port and starboard, two covering the rear, and one on the ventral and dorsal sides."

Lorne gave another low whistle. "Twenty cannons in total. Five times more than what the _Daedalus_ -class can carry."

Carter nodded. "All upgraded with new, high-quality focusing crystals, power recyclers, and thermal sinks to allow for increased efficiency, decreased cooldown, and increased rate of fire, and arrayed to allow for complete coverage, just like the railguns. We've also upgraded the targeting systems for both weapons. You could write your initials on the side of the enemy ship before you blasted it to kingdom come. Those same upgraded targeting systems are used by the ship's point-to-point matter transporters, so you won't have as much trouble beaming to and from smaller, fast moving ships, and it should be easier to cut through interference, like what the Wraith used to keep us from beaming warheads onto their ships back in Pegasus.

Shields are the same kind of Asgardian Shields we have on the Daedalus-class, just bigger to accommodate the frame, which is almost twice as large. Multiple, redundant shield emitters, of course, to protect from any unexpected power surges. Hyperdrive is also the same, just sized up. We had to cut down on the size of the Sublight drives, so her acceleration isn't as good as the battlecruisers' are. She has a small flight deck for deploying F-302Bs and other small craft, but at most it can only carry four of them. Leaving space for emergency landings though, it's more like two."

Lorne looked slightly worried. "So she's not as fast, and she's got almost no strike craft."

"With all the firepower at her disposal, she won't need it," remarked Carter. "Combined with her massive power output, she can take as much punishment as an Ori Mothership, while outputting more weapon's fire. Unless someone finds one of the old _O'Neills_ , there's no other ship in the galaxy I'd rather take into battle." Carter hadn't looked this proud since the day Cassandra had graduated from the Air Force Academy at the top of her class.

"Christ, I'd love to sit in her commander's seat. Do you know who's gonna get her?" questioned the Major.

O'Neill and Carter exchanged knowing glances before answering simultaneously. "Yes. Yes we do."

Lorne smiled ruefully at the big, beautiful lady, sitting at rest in the airless void like a sleeping giant. "God, I'd love to be that lucky sonofabitch..."

O'Neill looked at the man, a smile on his face he didn't even try to hide. "Well then, it's a good day to be you... Colonel." The General's smile grew as he revealed the real reason he had brought Lorne all the way up here, pulling out a black box which he handed off to the former Major.

Evan Lorne took the box, his eyes as wide as the ship he was about to receive. He opened the container to reveal two silver eagles, marking his promotion up two whole pay grades, and a new patch for his flight suit, marked with the proud seal of the _HSNS Thor_.

Lorne didn't know what to say. He had nothing to say. Such promotions were unheard of outside of battlefield promotions. He took the new rank and insignia with slightly trembling hands, hands which had fought off whole Wraith hives steadily now found they could barely hold the tiny metal birds and the accompanying piece of cloth.

"Officially, you're not supposed to know for a few more weeks. I figured I'd at least buy the ranks for you as a gift." Jack couldn't help but smile at the confused grin on the newly minted full Colonel. Truthfully, there had been a lot of resistance to this initially, but the General had been insistent. Evan Lorne had performed exceptionally during his tenure at Atlantis, and had even successfully commanded a Lantean warship, the _Aurora_ -class battleship, the _Orion_.

By now, everyone had shifted their attention from the new battleship to her new commanding officer. Colonel Lorne looked at everyone looking at him.

"Okay, am I the only one who didn't know about this?"

The knowing smiles on everyone's faces, even the bridge crew, answered the man's question. Doctor Jackson approached Jack, Sam, and Evan with newly refilled glasses of champagne, offering the bubbly wine to the three officers. The General accepted the drink before raising the glass in a toast once everyone had a full glass in hand.

"Here's to the _Thor_ and her new commanding officer. May the... solar winds be at your back... and... umm... Daniel..."

The archeologist rolled his eyes at the pleading look in his friend's eyes. Raising his glass he started up where his friend left, a string of strange, alien-sounding words, half of which sounded as if they shouldn't have been possible with the human voice. Doctor Jackson smiled fondly afterwards.

"That was a traditional, Asgardian farewell. It means, 'May the stars light your way on the path to Valhalla.'" Everyone, Jack included, smiled at his words, not realizing that Jackson had purposefully forgotten to translate the second half of the toast: 'May the screams of your enemies ring loudly from Hel.' Jackson figured they wouldn't mind.

He held up his glass one last time. "Here's to old friends. To the Asgard!"

"To the Asgard!"

As everyone finished their glasses at once, the silent guardian of Earth slept, waiting for the day when she'd roar into battle, a shield to her friends, or a vengeful deity to those few fools who would claim to be her enemy. It was enough to make the God of Thunder smile from his seat in Valhalla.

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" _HSNS Thor"_

Commander William "Husker" Adama raised an eyebrow as his son's voice came in on the com. "What?" he asked.

"That's what it says on the side. _HSNS Thor_ ," repeated Lee "Apollo" Adama, looking at the massive inscription from the cockpit of his Viper. Gliding through the airless void, he effortlessly turned to avoid another piece of the smoldering wreckage.

" _HSNS_?" questioned Saul Tigh, XO to the Battlestar _Galactica_. He'd never heard an acronym like that, even

"The _Thor_?" retorted the CO of the ship. The word sounded strange and alien in his throat, more like a guttural grunt than the name of any ship ever put into space by the Colonies.

"How does she look?" asked Adama.

"Umm... permission to speak freely?" asked Kara "Starbuck" Thrace. Saul and Tigh looked at each other, half questioningly, half worryingly. Starbuck never asked for permission to speak freely. This had to be serious.

"Go ahead," answered the Commander.

"She's entirely fubar. Frakked up beyond all recognition. Literally. I don't recognize this ship design. Or any of the ships or fighters I'm seeing out here."

"Assuming some of these things are even ships and fighters?" questioned Lee.

"Lee, I know ships and fighters when I see them, and those are definitely ships and fighters. Hell, those fighters even have a similar silhouette to our Vipers."

"They're sure as Hades not like ours," countered Apollo. "Just look at them. They look more like giant bugs."

"Enough you two," ordered Adama. Turning to his XO, he ordered all fighters recalled and for a course to be plotted immediately back to Picon. Colonial Fleet Headquarters needed to know about this.

As the clock began winding down and the Old Lady of the Fleet got ready to jump, old Husker turned the strange name over and over again in his mind. _Thor_... He pondered the name like you'd ponder a riddle. His pilots were reporting thousands of pieces of rubble, scattered throughout space, and whatever the strange ship was, they had found it torn to pieces. She was a grey brick, floating in space, without power, without a crew, and almost without a hull if all the hull breaches his pilots had spotted were to be believed.

"What the hell happened to you?"


	2. Chapter 2

William Adama felt the smooth, polished white surface of the coffin with his aged, weathered hand. It wasn't the first time he'd carried corpses on his ship, but it was the first time under such strange circumstances. There had been some disagreements on how to handle the bodies. Who were these people? Theories had been flying everywhere, only to be shot down as quickly as Cylon Raiders in a storm of flak. Pirates? Wayward explorers? Aliens? They certainly looked human, but how could they be sure? Tigh had briefly floated the idea of an autopsy, only to be quickly shot down by Adama. It was impossible for either of them to get Dr. Cottle to cooperate, no matter their ranks, and besides, there was no way Adama was going to allow fellow servicemen to be treated as such.

"What makes you so sure they're military?" questioned Saul.

"I've never seen pirates who chose to wear uniforms," retorted Bill.

"Yeah but-"

"Saul," interrupted the Admiral. "Consider it a hunch."

"Sir," interrupted a young marine who crisply saluted his superior officer. "Doctor Gaius Baltar has just arrived. He says he wants to examine the captured vessel as soon as possible."

Adama returned the salute before looking back at the coffin, draped in the flag of the 12 Colonies, as was tradition. This one had stood out to him. They had found him floating in what they assumed to be the ship's bridge, over what could only have been the captain's chair. His uniform had told them his name: Evan Lorne. He wasn't a young man, but, like most men of his age, Adama couldn't help but think of him as another kid, like all of the others who had died lightyears away from their homes and their families. This man would receive the honors befitting a warrior.

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The air was cool and the sky was clear that brisk, December day in San Francisco. The kids were with their grandparents in the living room, attempting to play a video game together, the elderly couple struggling with the buttons as the kids, not yet out of elementary school, struggled to teach them. A middle-aged woman in jeans and a t-shirt smiled as she took one more look at the casserole she had in the oven. Normally, when her husband wasn't deployed, one of them would keep the kids distracted while the other took care of dinner. Of course, with Christmas around the corner, she also had her parents to help out. She only hoped her husband could make it home in time. Try as she might, her turkey was never going to be as good as his, a fact he routinely reminded her of at least once every holiday.

The high-pitched ringing of the doorbell took her eyes off of her beloved chicken and chickpeas casserole. She moved towards the door of their cozy, little downtown townhouse. The rumbling of over-excited feet informed her that her children had heard the bell too, and wanted to see who was at the door. The footsteps of her parents joined as they followed their grandchildren downstairs.

"I've got it!" she shouted. She smiled at the sound of her kid's clumsy stomping. If he was back, her husband would be shouting at them, though not in a mean way. It just scared Evan to death when their kids started jumping down the stairs.

She opened the door and stopped at the two men in uniform who stood on her doorstep. Their hands were folded politely in front of them, but the shadows of their covers didn't conceal the grim looks in their eyes. In an instant, her smile was gone. The sound of her parents and children, her past and her future, drifted off as she knew what these two men were going to say before they said it.

"Mrs. Lorne, I'm so sorry..."

Generals O'Neill and Shepherd left the Lorne household about an hour later. It was a long time to deliver news, especially when almost all of the details were classified. However, Holly was a friend of John's, and he wasn't going to leave until he was absolutely sure that his friend's wife was going to be okay.

John sighed as he leaned back in the passenger's seat of the black Air Force SUV they were using. Of course she wasn't okay. No amount of comforting words from him, or anyone, could change that. The only thing that could help would be finding Evan and bringing him home. Dead or alive.

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Space ripped in twain as the _George Hammond_ emerged from hyperspace, the battlecruiser roaring out of subspace. Then, like a rubber band being released, the fabric of space snapped back into place, momentarily compressing the released subspace particles into a singularity, with the earth-built vessel caught at the very edge of its event horizon. The sudden gravity created quickly decelerated the famed warship, before the energized particles forming the singularity were sucked back into their dimension of origin. All along, inertial dampeners hummed in activity, counteracting the massive change in velocity from near-luminal speed to a dead stop. In less than a second, the ship had come to a full halt. Simultaneously, the _George Hammond's_ programming took hold. Waves of energy pulsed out from the shield emitters, coalescing into an oblong shape surrounding the entire vessel, forming a wall of energy stronger and tougher than any armor every forged by any race ever born. Railgun cannons snapped to attention, scanning the surrounding area for any potential hostiles. Missiles were loaded into launch silos, their naquadah-enhanced warheads primed for detonation, ready to deliver a multi-gigaton payload of fire and brimstone to some sad sap. Sensors probed the depths of space using advanced scanners capable of detecting changes at a scale so small there was a new field of physics describing its characteristics, finding nothing, but ready and waiting to report anything unusual, unexpected, or out of place within mere attoseconds of occurrence. Cables brought fuel to the ship's sublight and maneuvering thrusters, preparing to pump as much as was needed the instant it became necessary to turn the 200-meter long brick into a dancing bird of prey in the air. Lastly, enormous amounts of power were transferred directly from the ship's naquadah-fusion reactor to the Asgard Plasma Beam Cannons, weapons whose absolute minimum energy output had to be measured in terrawatts.

"This is Captain Eduardo Silva, commander of the Brazilian BC-304 _Pedro II_. Please identify yourself and state your intentions."

Less than a hundred thousand kilometers away, practically close-enough to kiss it in terms of starship maneuvering, the Brazilian warship transmitted an encrypted challenge message to the recently-arrived American vessel.

"We read you, _Pedro II_. This is General Samantha Carter, commander of the USAF George Hammond. We are here on orders from the SGC. What's your current status?" asked the General, looking upon the image of the handsome Brazilian sailor projected on the window of her ship's bridge.

"We are in the clear," responded the São Paulo native, seeing his communications officer nodding upon receiving the proper response code. "We've run some preliminary scans and we're ready to transfer the data to your ship. I trust you had a smooth journey here?"

 _Smoother than the Thor's was, undoubtedly._ Carter sighed heavily, suppressing the worrying thought as she got back to the business of finding their missing ship and crew. "Nothing to report. Have you found anything?"

"Sadly nothing," he replied in the light accent of his homeland. Though the naval officer's professionalism held, even he couldn't conceal the frustration in his voice. "We've been searching the _Thor's_ last known coordinates for nearly six hours, and we haven't found anything but dust."

"Well now we'll have twice the people and equipment to work with," said Carter, the determination in her voice designed to both comfort her fellow officer and abate her own worries.

"Of course," replied Captain Silva. Hesitating for the briefest of moments, he made a request of the American. "General, would you mind if I spoke to you personally? In the conference room."

Carter raised an eyebrow. "Very well. Be ready to beam directly in."

Less than a minute later were the two standing face to face in the conference room aboard the _George Hammond_. Cater was both puzzled and concerned, emotions which were never a good sign in her line of work. There was only one reason Captain Silva would want to talk here. The conference rooms in all of Earth's ships were designed for high-level diplomatic talks, and in keeping with this they were built with internal dampening fields to prevent any sort of listening-in.

"General Carter, I need to ask you something. Off the record." The Captain's voice sounded... unsure. It was a feeling that a man of his profession typically couldn't afford to show, so the fact that he was making no attempt to conceal it here showed just how unsettled he was. Carter nodded her acceptance.

"Ma'am, what was the _Thor_ doing all the way out here, without an escort?"

Carter sighed. She hated saying this. It wasn't something she said often. "I don't know."

Silva raised an eyebrow. "How-"

"Some time ago Colonel Lorne told me that he was being ordered to deploy his ship to this sector," interrupted the General. "Unfortunately there wasn't much he could tell me when he confided in me. He didn't tell me how long he was to be deployed, or even for what purpose. Hell, they didn't even tell the SGC or Homeworld Security the ship was missing until less than a day ago."

Captain Silva's eyes widened. "The _Thor_ left Earth's orbit in the middle of November. That means the ship's been gone for nearly a month, and we have no idea where the hell it's been."

"Precisely," agreed Carter. "But Lorne did tell me who gave him his orders."

"It wasn't O'Neill?" asked Silva.

"No. It was the IOA."


	3. Chapter 3

**I may enjoy my political intrigue and mystery as much as the next guy, but I think it's time for a space battle. Who's with me?**

Together, the _Pedro II_ and the _George Hammond_ exited Hyperspace, scanning everything within a few lightyears. Samantha Carter finally released a yawn that she'd been suppressing for six hours on a shift that was swiftly approaching its twentieth.

"Ma'am, you should probably take a break."

"I'll be fine," responded the General to the concerned Major who spoke to her. "Besides, I still have all of this excellent Brazilian coffee to get through," said Carter, referring to the bags of arabica coffee beans that Captain Silva had beamed over. Apparently they cost over 100 USD per bag. She took another sip of the incredibly strong brew, too busy examining the sensor readings to really pay attention to the taste of the purified caffeine passing between her lips.

"Wait a minute..." she said, eyes narrowing for a moment. She quickly contacted the Brazilian Battlecruiser. "Our scanners are picking up trace amounts of trinium and naquadah. Can you confirm?"

"Aye ma'am," responded the other ship after a few seconds. "We're detecting the same thing. Too refined to be natural. Possibly fragments of a ship's hull, blasted off during combat."

"Hmm..." Carter took one more look at the data. Fragments were all that remained, but the scans indicated that they were all the exact same alloy composition as the armor plating used on Tau'ri ships like the _Daedalus_ and the _Thor_. Well, not all of them, the rest of them looked like...

Carter's eyes widened. Immediately she spoke to her Communications Officer. "Contact Earth and our embassy on Dakara. We need to speak with them immediately."

.

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There was a kind of irony to subspace. Slaviash had come from a world dominated by oceans. His was a world covered in water. The movement of the waves was something he'd grown up with. He rose with the tide and slept to the harmony of the sea endlessly breaking on the shore. Growing up, he and his family was lucky to have a fishing boat, a couple of nets, and whatever they could catch. Now he was an old man, a Second, one of the most powerful men in the Lucian Alliance. He commanded fleets of warships, and held entire worlds in his grasp. Men and women lived and died by his command. Every single person on this ha'tak, on this bridge, in this fleet, was a person on _his_ ha'tak, _his_ bridge, _his_ fleet. If he wanted, he could order one of these idiots to be brutally murdered and it would be carried out without delay. But outside of his ha'tak, his bridge, and his fleet, the energies of subspace flowed and washed over the ship, like those far-off waves breaking on the shores of a planet he hadn't seen in years.

"My lord, we are approaching Chulak."

Slaviash nodded to his Second-in-Command, an attractive young woman who he'd freed from the Goa'uld years ago. The famed Teal'c would be off-world to accept his appointment as the first ever Grand Prime of the Free Jaffa Nation. Elected by the decision of the High Council of Free Jaffa, Teal'c of Chulak would be the supreme commander of the combined military forces of the Free Jaffa. With support from the equally legendary Bra'tac, the Council had finally been convinced that the fight against the Lucians required a single, united command, which in turn necessitated a single commander. Teal'c had publicly announced that, upon election, he would personally ensure that the Lucian Alliance would be crushed and their forces would cease to be a major threat to the galaxy.

The Hyperspace corridor came to a sudden and abrupt end as the fleet exited subspace, the tunnel of extradimensional energy spitting out a force of 20 ha'taks and 50 al'kesh. Slaviash smiled as his second reported that, as their source had promised, there were no capital ships in orbit. As part of his triumphant election, Teal'c had moved all of his ha'taks to Dakara to take part in the ceremony. But now the largest Lucian Alliance fleet ever assembled would decimate their honored Prime's homeworld. Once Dakara and the rest of the galaxy learned of this, Teal'c and his campaign to eradicate the Lucians would lose all credibility. Furthermore, this attack would bring the aging Slaviash the credibility to finally seize the title of Leader of the Lucian Alliance. The post had been empty since the assassination of Netan years ago, but with this crushing victory against this man who threatened to become the Alliance's greatest threat, he would easily command the respect of the other Seconds.

"Sir, we are receiving a message via subspace from Chulak."

"Open a channel," commanded the Lucian commander. "I want to hear the last words of these poor fools before I kill them."

Slaviash's Second-in-Command quickly complied. On screen appeared the young face of a man who bore a startling resemblance to their hated foe.

"I am Rya'c of Chulak, son of Teal'c, pupil of Bra'tac, and commander of the Chulak Planetary Garrison. Unknown vessels, please identify yourselves and state your intentions." The man was young, but there was a certain confidence to his bearing, something Slaviash could recognize even through the screen.

Slaviash smiled at the young man's foolishness. This was more than he could've hoped. "I am Slaviash of the Lucian Alliance. Soon to be known as the commander who brought Chulak to its knees and the man who slew the son of the mighty Teal'c." He nodded once to his second, informing her to close the channel. With their "talk" over, Slaviash made sure once more that his ships were all in formation. Then, as one, the fleet pressed on to their objective. Slaviash noted with satisfaction that there were a mere 500 Death Gliders in orbit over the planet, arrayed against him, supported by perhaps 50 al'kesh and about as many tel'taks. Slaviash chuckled to himself. The Jaffa must be truly desperate to be fielding their cargo ships against his mighty fleet. He had four times as many fighter craft, easily enough to obliterate their meager defensive force on their own, even without his capital ships.

As one, the Lucian Alliance ha'taks released their Death Gliders. The small, agile space fighters organized themselves into a tight, wedge-shaped formation. They would punch right through their enemy's defenses, paving the way for their al'kesh to neutralize Chulak's surface-to-orbit defenses with plasma charges. Once the planet was defenseless, the ha'taks would move into range to bombard the surface. They would be gone long before anyone could arrive to rescue this poor little planet. Screaming through space, nearly 2,000 space combat fighters prepared to decimate the Jaffa's oddly porous defensive line. That should've been the first sign that something was wrong.

"Sir, our sensors are detecting over 500 new contacts!"

Slaviash's eyes widened. What?!

"Each one is small, smaller than a Death Glider, but somehow moving even faster. They're coming from the enemy's defensive line."

Out in space, the exact reactions of the Lucian Alliance fighters differed, but all of them were some variation of shock. Most of these pilots had never encountered such a weapon, unsurprising considering the vast majority of them were mere conscripts. However, those few who did recognize them were only slightly less shocked, and vastly more afraid. They had seen these before, had seen how deadly they were, but they'd never seen them on Death Gliders.

These were modified air-to-air missiles, specifically AIM 120As equipped with inertial maneuvering drives and naquadah-enhanced explosive charges. These computer-guided projectile weapons had turned the F-302 Interceptors from just another fighter craft into terrors of the inky black void. And now, they were about to be the terrors of the unfortunate pilots of the Lucian Alliance.

The fighters on the outside of the Lucian formation were mostly fresh conscripts, with barely a few hours in the pilot's seat. Their veteran pilots, mercenaries and pirates who had been flying since the days of the System Lords, had all elected to remain in the center of the formation, hoping to use their less experienced comrades as meat-shields. Now, with over 500 missiles bearing down on them, their position only left them with little room to maneuver. Meanwhile, those poor pilots on the fringes either tried to speed up, thinking they could outrace these missiles by flying in a straight line, or they froze up and maintained their speed, thinking back on their horrendously inadequate training. Only a small minority of them had the wherewithal to break formation and try to evade the enemy missiles, but their poorly coordinated maneuvers would prove too little, too late.

Almost as one, a wave of hypersonic explosives slammed into the Lucian forces. The Jaffa pilots had all aimed their weapons at the center of the enemy formation, and in such a dense concentration, each missile was guaranteed to hit something. Advanced networked programming ensured no missile would hit the same target, and their powerful warheads made sure that each hit obliterated one of the relatively flimsy Death Gliders.

With their tightly packed formation now in tatters, and nearly a quarter of their fighters lost in the first volley, the Lucians lost all momentum. Many of the fighters had to swerve to avoid crashing into the burning wreckage of their own people. Others had been too close to the exploding missiles and found that their planes were too damaged to keep going. Still others found their nerves completely broken. These were fighters in name, not in spirit, and certainly not by choice. They had never wanted to serve the Lucians, and they certainly didn't want to die for some boss who would have them thrown to the dogs whenever it suited him. That was when the Jaffa Death Gliders fired again.

Rya'c felt a sense of grim satisfaction as his Death Glider, along with the other 499 of them, spat out their second volley of missiles. It had been difficult to procure over a thousand AAMRAAMs from Earth, and even more difficult to refit over five hundred Death Gliders to work with the Tau'ri weapons. However, the most difficult part of all was convincing his father to let him deal with the invaders when they'd learned they were coming, to lure them into a trap that would cripple the Lucians and leave them utterly broken for generations to come. But he had achieved all of that, all in the span of less than a year, and now the Lucians were paying for his diligence.

"Jaffa!" he cried out over the com. "Shel'kek nem'ron!"

"Shel'kek nem'ron!" cried out his loyal warriors, mirroring their commander and the war cry of all Free Jaffa. At his signal, the Free Jaffa pilots, who had yet to be shot at, had yet to see nearly half of their people obliterated, had yet to see dozens of their own flee from the battlefield, fell upon the remaining Lucians.

From the bridge of his ha'tak, Slaviash slammed his fist into the arm of his command chair. He quickly ordered all fighters recalled and his al'kesh to retreat to the safety of his ha'taks' shield perimeters. He cursed as he watched his first thrust into the Free Jaffa's defenses disintegrate into an unorganized brawl, more of his fighters dying or fleeing off into space with each passing second.

"Sir..."

Slaviash snapped, his pistol flying into his hand, his mind not realizing his gun was pointed at his own Weapons Officer until he had already squeezed the trigger. Breathing a heavy sigh, the holstered his gun, the act of violent murder suddenly clarifying everything.

"It doesn't matter. We'll just have to escort the al'kesh into bombing range using the ha'taks." True, doing so would put his capital ships in range of any ground-mounted cannons they had, but at most he would probably lose one or two before either his motherships or his bombers could blast them to smithereens. He gestured to the dead body on his pel'tak. "And someone clean this up!"

Without fighter support, the Lucian's retreating al'kesh were easy pickings for the Free Jaffa. Their light shielding, poor acceleration, and fairly inaccurate staff cannons made them easy prey for the Death Gliders. Before their retreat could be completed a dozen of them had either been destroyed or disabled. Once they were safely within the shields of the Lucian ha'taks, however, there was nothing the Jaffa fighter-craft could do.

Rya'c could deal with their escorts, but without capital ships, there was nothing he could do about their motherships. A sly grin spread across his face like a poorly contained laugh. Luckily, he had one. The most powerful one in the galaxy, actually. Swiftly he ordered his command center back on Chulak to open a subspace channel.

"Colonel Lorne, I believe it's time."

Meanwhile, on the bridge of Slaviash's ha'tak, alarms rang out, forcing Slaviash to get out of his chair and see what the hell was going on, now that his second-in-command had to man the Weapons Console, replacing the recently departed fool. His eyes widened once more at what he saw. According to this, a single ship was approaching out of hyperspace. Judging by the subspace frequency, it was probably using an Asgard Hyperdrive. Unless the Asgard had suddenly returned from wherever it was they'd suddenly disappeared to, that probably meant it was a Tau'ri ship. Quickly, his ha'taks were ordered to pull back from Chulak. Despite this sudden development, this could still work out to his benefit. His were the latest generation of ha'taks, outfitted with the best weapons and shields in the Alliance, developed by the System Lords in the waning days of their empire, and improved by Ba'al in the last days of his own. True, individually they stood no chance against their Tau'ri rivals, but with such an overwhelming numerical advantage, there was no way a single ship could defeat them, even if it was one of the dreaded _Daedalus_ Battlecruisers. Destroying just one Earth ship would do just as much to boost his cred as any raid would.

She wore her name proudly on her starboard nacelle, unleashing a flurry of Railgun fire, missiles, and Asgard plasma all at once. Enemy plasma-fire splattered against her shields, as effective as bugs colliding with a windshield. While all this was happening, Colonel Lorne oversaw the battle, all while taking a sip of coffee from a mug with the seal of the US Air Force emblazoned on the side. The _HSNS Thor_ had arrived.

"Ooh, that's strong. Who made the coffee last time?"

"I did, sir," answered the helmsman, a young female lieutenant from the Chinese PLA Navy.

"Well that explains," answered the Armory Officer, another lieutenant, this one a young Russian man straight from the Navy Academy in St. Petersburg. "It's not tea, you actually have to put some effort into it. Twenty enemy ha'taks dead ahead, sir."

"How convenient," remarked the Helmsman. "One mothership for each of our Asgard Cannons."

"At least they won't have to share," agreed Colonel Lorne. "Set Asgard Plasma Cannons to minimum yield, I want our rate of fire maximized, make sure we hit as many as we can so we can disrupt their hyperdrives. This is the largest Lucian Alliance fleet ever gathered in one place, I want to make sure none of them leave this system in one piece. Drive us directly into their formation, that way we can bring all our weapons to bare."

"Aye sir!" said the bridge crew, the overwhelming amount of navy personnel once again forgetting that Colonel Lorne was from an Air Force.

Evan ignored it, taking another sip. He'd gotten used to it by now. "Chief Petty Officer Ramirez," he said over the internal coms, "could you please beam some cream and sugar to the bridge? I feel like I'm drinking medicine." Lorne grimaced as he tried yet another sip. "Extremely hot, coffee-flavored medicine."

Outside of the _Thor's_ bridge, the battle continued to rage. Well, perhaps rage was too strong of a word. There was certainly rage on the part of the Lucians. For the Tau'ri however, the great battleship just seemed to glide into position, her guns firing continuously. With each shot of blue plasma, a ha'tak's shield's flared, their systems strained to their absolute limit. Power couplings, computing crystals, and hyperdrive components exploded as megawatts of power were suddenly forced into the ship's systems. Soon, Slaviash's ship was flooded with communications signals.

"Our shields are at 23% and falling!"

"Hyperdrives have failed, all of our weapons have overloaded!"

"Power failures on three levels, fires on five, we're venting atmosphere in a dozen places!"

"Shield failure is imminent, we have to abandon ship!"

One by one, shields began to fail, crews began to panic, and captains began to realize the same thing. Beams of blue plasma lashed out, and even on low power they proved more than enough to sheer right through one of the weakened and battered Alliance warships. As the Asgardian beams passed through the mothership, the alloys which made up the hull became superheated, sublimating, becoming plasma as well, expanding in all directions like an inflating balloon. The ship was torn apart, the unfortunate al'kesh and death gliders still hiding in its shield perimeter like frightened pups caught in the blast radius. Soon their remains became indistinguishable from the millions of tiny pieces that the ha'tak had been reduced to.

One of the ha'tak captains found that his courage had depleted faster than his shields. His ship quickly tried to disengage from the fight and flee the system. Even without hyperdrive, the ship could still make it to the relative safety of the void on sublight alone, and the Goa'uld-built ship did seem faster than this terrifying visage of Earthling power. If they could get far enough away, they could probably repair their hyperdrive and leave this cursed system. With his plan in place, the captain ordered his crew to turn the ship around and make for the rhetorical hills.

He never got the chance. As soon as he began to limp away, the Lucian mothership found itself beset on all sides by Rya'c's forces. At first it was merely death gliders, but even against a weakened ha'tak their tiny plasma cannons could do little to stop the much larger vessel. Next came the Jaffa al'kesh, who dropped plasma charge after plasma charge on the much larger vessel's ailing shields. However, the true death blow came from the tel'taks, the tiny cargo and scout ships which the Lucian commander had so hastily dismissed. They came in pairs, one dragging the other like a tow truck in space. However, only the lead ships were manned. The rear ships were unmanned and filled to the brim with naquadah explosives. The tiny and surprisingly agile duos approached the enemy mothership, easily dodging the ha'tak's plasma cannons, designed to target immobile cities and gargantuan capital ships, not ships small enough to fit in their cargo holds. At the last second, the lead tel'tak disengaged its magnetic tractor beam, allowing the literally ticking time bomb to collide with the enemy ship's shields. All the Free Jaffa ships quickly backed off from the ha'tak once they saw what was about to happen. From the empty tel'tak bloomed forth a massive detonation, equivalent to a Mark VIII tactical nuclear warhead. The ha'tak's shields flickered once, before dying. Immediately the Free Jaffa reengaged the enemy, falling upon the Lucian Alliance ha'tak like a flock of eagles on a particularly fat and helpless mouse. Al'kesh plasma charges and death glider strafing runs slowly but surely tore the enemy ship to pieces. With each shot, another piece of the hull broke off, with each attack another part of her died. Colonel Lorne couldn't help but cringe as he watched from the safety of his bridge. While the Asgard Plasma Cannons offered a quick and painless death, this was somehow more brutal, more savage. If getting hit by the Asgard Cannon was like being euthanized, this was more like being eaten alive. Soon the once proud ship was a smoldering ruin, a burning carcass pockmarked by craters, tumbling through space like just another piece of debris.

Seeing all this, Slaviash cursed. He cursed and he cursed and he cursed. He pulled out his gun and fired on the holographic image of the Tau'ri, fired on the image of the Free Jaffa, fired on the holographic image of Chulak itself. This time, no one dared to speak. If only they had. Perhaps if he had someone to kill he could make himself calm again. If he stayed and fought they'd be slaughtered to a man. If he tried to flee, they'd be run down by Rya'c and his forces. There was nothing he could do. No. No, no, no, no, no! He would win. He hadn't come all this way, murdered so many people, just to be killed like one of a million, faceless conscripts.

"All ships keep firing. Divert all power from shields, engines, and life support to the weapons. If anyone retreats, open fire on them as well! I'll show them, I'll show you all! This old man will put these Jaffa, these Tau'ri in their place! All will know the name of-"

Presumably he was going to say Slaviash. The bridge crew never got to know for sure, as the madman's ravings were interrupted by a bullet to the forehead. Calmly, the former Second-in-Command of Slaviash's fleet holstered her pistol and began to broadcast on all frequencies, both regular and subspace.

"This is Arla Tarkin, former Second-in-Command of this fleet, and now its Commanding Officer. All Lucian Alliance ships are to stand down. You are hereby ordered to power down weapons and prepare to be boarded. As the ranking officer, I wish to formally offer the surrender of my ship, fleet, and crew. Please respond."

The Battle of Chulak would mark the beginning of the end for the Lucian Alliance as a major power in the galaxy. The death of the most powerful and ambitious of the former Seconds of Netan served as a warning of the changing tide, and with Teal'c rising to become the single, most powerful man in the Free Jaffa Nation, and perhaps the entire galaxy, things began to change. Rats started fleeing the sinking ship. At first it was only low level officers, enforcers, and such. Slowly however, the trickle became a flood. It wasn't long before some of the other former Seconds began hastily packing as much treasure and loyal servants as they could and quietly slipped away, usually in a nondescript tel'tak heading to some dark, lonely little corner of the galaxy. Within a few years, the Lucian Alliance had gone the way of the Goa'uld System Lords: a bad memory in the mind of a galaxy which had long since moved on.

.

.

.

Woolsey finally looked away from the hologram. The Jaffa had a long history of memorializing battles, though originally the Goa'uld had always made their memorials focus on the omnipotence of their gods, rather than the heroics of their soldiers. Since the liberation however, the Free Jaffa had finally been free to construct the elaborate monuments that they'd always desired to honor their fallen. This particular statue stood in the Hall of Heroes, a decorative hall adjacent to the central meeting chamber of the High Council, filled with statues of their mighty heroes, as well as holograms displaying the varying victories for which they had earned their spot in this hallowed place. This particular hologram documenting the victory over Chulak almost five years ago was placed at the feet of a three-meter-tall statue of Rya'c, who stood right in-between the two statues of Bra'tac and Teal'c. The two men flanking the visage of Rya'c easily had the most holograms in the hall, in fact between the two of them they had more than everyone else in the Hall of Heroes combined.

"Truly, a glorious victory to behold," remarked Grand Prime Teal'c. "Not just for the Free Jaffa, but for all in the galaxy."

Woolsey bowed his head in respect to the Supreme Commander of the Free Jaffa military. As a soldier, Teal'c was no longer allowed to wear the loose-fitting robes he had worn as a member of the High Council. Now he wore the armor of a Free Jaffa, which greatly resembled the leather coverings worn in the days of the Jaffa Rebellion, though now reinforced with trinium armor plates over the chest, forearms, and shins. They'd also retained the neck guards from the old Jaffa armor. Of course, he wasn't allowed to bring any of his weapons, a privilege only allowed for members of the Council Guard who patrolled the halls and streets of the capitol.

"You must be proud," said Woolsey.

"I have always been proud of my son," answered Teal'c, smiling in fondness. "But yes, this was the moment I knew that Rya'c was no longer a child. He has grown into as capable a warrior and leader as I am right now. And I know he will only grow stronger."

"An important victory for all Jaffa," said a new voice which Woolsey had never heard before. "But one that was not entirely due to Rya'c or his skill in battle."

The two turned around to face the newcomer, a middle-aged Jaffa in the brown robes of a High Councilman. Woolsey recognized the tattoo on his forehead as the old symbol of Lord Yu, surrounded by a circular ring representing the Stargate, the technology which had been instrumental in uniting people across the galaxy, Jaffa and Human. Though the Free Jaffa no longer worshipped the Goa'uld, they still retained the forehead symbols which had become important markers of family, history, culture, and ethnicity. However, they had added the additional symbol of the chappa'ai to mark themselves as a free and united people.

"Mr. Woolsey," said Teal'c. "Allow me to introduce High Councilor Do-Tru, elected representative of the Yu tribe of the Free Jaffa."

Woolsey extended an arm in greeting, as was customary among the Free Jaffa. The Councilor instead chose to greet the Grand Prime, ignoring the human entirely. "It was a victory that unfortunately had to be shared with the humans, despite how admirably our own forces performed. I cannot help but feel as if the involvement of the Tau'ri battleship, the _Thor_ , was entirely unnecessary."

Teal'c raised an imperious eyebrow. "Without the _Thor_ , it would have been nearly impossible for Rya'c to have prevented the enemy motherships from bombarding the planet. True, he most likely could have brought down the enemy ha'taks, but not without suffering extensive civilian and military casualties. My son was simply being prudent."

"Yes, yes," said the Councilman, dismissively. "All he had to sacrifice was the pride of the Free Jaffa Nation. And what, exactly, does any Jaffa have without his pride?"

Woolsey could see Teal'c's jaw muscles strain as his teeth clenched. "Indeed, in some cases pride is all that some Jaffa have."

Woolsey was extremely glad when a young US Marine approached him and told him that there was an incoming communication from Earth that he would probably want to see. The diplomat bade farewell to the Councilman and the Grand Prime as he made his way out of the rebuilt Temple which served as the center of the Free Jaffa government. Directly across the courtyard was the Tau'ri embassy, right next door to the Tok'ra and Pangaran embassies. Despite everything that had happened to the Free Jaffa, from the casualties suffered during the Ori Crusade to the innumerable difficulties of governing a Nation which spanned across a whole galaxy, the Jaffa had proved a resilient and determined people. They had rebuilt Dakara, better, stronger, and grander than ever before. And, as a thank you for all their help over the years, one of the smaller temples had been set aside for the Tau'ri to establish an embassy.

"What is this about?" questioned Woolsey. He was only on Dakara because the SGC wanted someone to check in on the embassy, and after years overseeing Atlantis in both the Pegasus Galaxy and on Earth, he hadn't been able to see the rebuilt Jaffa capitol. Walking among its grand palisades and marble columns, he could confidently say that it was well worth the wait.

"No idea," said the young Marine Lance Corporal. "They just told me they needed all high-ranking embassy personnel to report to the conference room."

Woolsey raised an eyebrow. "You know I'm just a visitor, right?"

The Marine looked at him with the ghost of a smile. "You may not be a serviceman, but the ambassadors felt that you deserved to be present."

Before long they were all seated around a mahogany table, screens showing representatives from all over the galaxy. On one screen was the face of General Jack O'Neill from Homeworld Command. On another was an office in Geneva, presumably a member of the IOA on screen. On the last two screens were the commanding officers of the _George Hammond_ and the _Pedro II_ , Brigadier General Samantha Carter and Captain Eduardo Silva.

"Carter, what's up?" asked General O'Neill, his typical casualness disguising the stress and worry that was carefully concealed on his face.

"Sir, we think we've found hull micro-fragments which indicate that the Thor was caught up in some sort of a battle," said Carter

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Was it destroyed?"

"We don't know sir," said the fellow airman. "But we also found micro-fragments of another ship's hull. Sir, the evidence suggests that the _Thor_ was fighting the Free Jaffa."


	4. Chapter 4

Picon Anchorage was more than a place where ships were built. It was a landmark in its own right, a wonder of the cosmos, a temple to the might of the Colonies, a forge to drive Hephaestus himself to envy. A vast, star-shaped construct of steel, covered in hundreds of square meters of armor, gun emplacements, and assembly lines. The fortress seemed too massive to have been manmade, appearing so grand, so glorious, so gargantuan, it surely must have been built by the gods themselves before it was lifted upon the shoulders of Atlas. On certain nights, the light of Cyrannus would reflect on the station, and from the surface it would almost appear as if there were a second moon in the night sky. Ironically, this massive factory in space greatly resembled a Cylon Basestar, and in fact, many in Colonial Intelligence suggested that their android adversaries had designed their carriers specifically in order to mock this monument to humanity. The central spine of the station connected directly to a tether running the entire length from the Anchorage to another, secondary manufacturing district down on Picon's surface. The tethering cable was essential for the industrial grade elevator which hauled parts and components too delicate to be manufactured in the dangers of the vacuum up to the Anchorage for final assembly. In many ways, it was here that the Cylon War was won. This was the place where the first _Columbia_ -class battlestars were built, along with hundreds of Raptors and thousands of Vipers. It was said that, at the height of the war, Picon Anchorage produced enough war material to build a brand new Battlestar every month, a Gunstar once a week, and in a single day, enough Vipers that if they were laid down end-to-end they would wrap around Picon like a belt of iron and tungsten. From their seats in one of the many conference rooms, officers Adama and Nagala had an impressive view of the Anchorage and _Galactica_ , which lay in dry-dock at the station. The mysterious ship, the so-called _Thor_ , was still located within the starboard flight pod of Adama's ship, where Baltar and a team of the Colonies' best and brightest were still looking over her with a fine-tooth comb, obviously under heavy guard.

"This is all quite fascinating," remarked Admiral Nagala, "But we can't lose focus. What about your original mission?"

The senior Admiral had this strange way of looking continually tired. Over the course of a years-long career, Adama had never seen him ever look truly awake. Wherever he went there was this air about him, like he was thinking about a dozen different things at once. He carried a dozen different burdens upon his shoulders and each one could've easily broken the backs of lesser men. But now Nagala was raising a single eyebrow towards Adama, and was coming dangerously close to looking interested.

Adama sighed. "We couldn't find the Cylons."

Nagala's single raised eyebrow was joined by its twin. "Elaborate please, Commander."

"We found nothing. No Cylon Basestars, no Raiders, no Centurions, nothing. The most we could find were mining outposts for tylium and other ores, but they were all empty. Blasted to wreckage, my engineers believe from the inside, as if they were abandoned and the Cylons didn't want them to be recovered and used against them. The strange thing about it is that the mines themselves were still perfectly usable. Plenty of tylium, iron, uranium, and titanium still there, but nothing there to extract it with."

"Sounds like they left in a hurry. Perhaps they were abandoned once we discovered their plot to invade the Colonies?" suggested Nagala.

"Could be," agreed the Commander. "But it could also be that that strange little ship has something to do with it."

Nagala scoffed as much as it was possible for a man of his disposition to scoff. "I sincerely doubt that. I don't see how a single ship smaller than a gunstar could send the whole toaster armada running, as much as I wish it would.

"We have no idea of that ship's capabilities," responded Adama. "We have even less of an idea if that ship was alone. Could be part of the vanguard of a much larger force."

"Aliens?" Nagala found that his ability to scoff was being greatly tested today. "Is that what you're suggesting Bill? Little green men? The crewmen we recovered were obviously human."

"Humans who we couldn't identify, aside from the names on their uniforms. The only reason someone from the Colonies wouldn't be anywhere in our databases would be if someone went to a lot of trouble to erase them from the system. Why go through all that trouble but still have first and last names sewn onto your clothing?" answered Adama, his logic proving undeniable, though the Admiral wouldn't admit it. "What I'm suggesting is that there's still a lot we don't know. We need more intelligence."

"Now _that_ , I can agree with," replied the Admiral. "Ever since our little incursion into Cylon space seven years ago, back when you commanded the _Pegasus_ , we've been waiting for the Cylon's inevitable return, but now it seems that they've simply disappeared. Part of me wants to sing praise to Zeus and Ares for handing us this victory." Nagala grimaced. "Meanwhile the other part of me can't help but think the same thing I suspect you're thinking."

"This was too easy," finished Bill, a sense of dread creeping into his voice the same way that radiation leaks through a crack in the hull of a Battlestar. "I have no idea what could possibly send the Cylons running like that, but whatever it was it must've been something really big and really scary."

Nagala nodded his head in agreement. "I've sent Rear Admiral Cain and a fleet of ships to investigate further. Whatever it is that's happening out there, she'll figure it out."

"The Razor?" questioned Adama. "Not exactly subtle."

"That's the point. If they're out there, I guarantee this'll get them to respond."

"Do we want them to?" questioned Adama, ominously.

Nagala looked at his colleague intensely. "There's an old proverb in the Ancient Scrolls. Better the enemy you know, than the enemy you don't.

.

.

.

"Carter, you can't be serious," said O'Neill, looking at her with a stare so penetrating it could've been weaponized.

"Deadly, sir," answered the Lieutenant General. "We've analyzed the hull fragments we've found, and the alloy composition is a near-exact match to the armor plating used by the Free Jaffa on their ha'taks."

"The Free Jaffa aren't the only people in the galaxy who use ha'taks," interrupted Mr. Woolsey. "What about the Lucians, or perhaps some unknown Goa'uld?"

"This alloy is unique to the Free Jaffa," said Carter. "They developed it during the Ori Crusade in an effort to improve their ships' survivability against Ori Motherships. It uses a higher grade of trinium than what the original ha'taks used, though it's still inferior to our own."

"Carter, how sure are you on this?" asked Jack.

"Very," she replied, "I helped them develop that alloy myself. Scans of the recovered hull fragments indicate a 99.7% match. It's also not the only evidence we've uncovered."

"Oh?" said one of the IOA representatives, a heavy-set man with only the barest hint of a Russian accent.

"Hyperdrives tend to leave a sort of subspace 'trail' behind them. Quantum particles, left over from the formation of the egress window from subspace. Our scanners were able to pick up some of these, and the particles definitely originate from the same band of subspace used by a Goa'uld Hyperdrive, and the particle composition precisely matches that of an egress window generated by a drive belonging to a ha'tak."

"That doesn't exactly narrow down the suspect pool," countered O'Neill. "Most races in the galaxy use Goa'uld Hyperdrives."

"Yes, however, we were able to calculate the number of egress windows which were opened simultaneously from the number of quantum particle clusters," said Carter.

"How many?" asked Woolsey.

Carter looked directly into the screen as she said it. "Probably at least 30 ships."

Everyone listening in on the conference call was silent. No one in the galaxy had a fleet that large. There were simply none left who could field and maintain such a force, not since the defeat of both the System Lords and the Lucians. No one except the Free Jaffa Nation. Perhaps no one except for...

"I'm sorry Carter, but I'm just not buying it," declared Jack.

Samantha blinked. "Sir?"

"There's no way in hell that any number of ha'taks could take out a ship that was able to crush the entire Lucian fleet without even breaking a sweat." The Russian raised an eyebrow at the American General's statement.

"Perhaps, but is it not true that your friend has been pouring much of his people's energy into improving their ships?" questioned the IOA official, a man who Woolsey suddenly realized he had yet to meet. An astonishing realization, considering his line of work.

"Okay, firstly, my _friend_ has been pouring most of his energy into improving the well-being of his people," said Jack, surprising Samantha with his level of restraint. "Second, I can't help but dislike what you're insinuating about someone who I've known for years on a professional and personal level. _Sir_."

"I insinuate nothing," replied the Russian, calmly. "I simply think it would be wise to-"

"Your wisdom is noted. General Carter, I want you to keep looking. Update us once you've found anything worth noting. You're dismissed." Ordinarily Sam wouldn't've left a conversation that was clearly nowhere near through. But something in Jack's voice told her that now was not the time to test his patience. She simply complied with his orders and logged off. The Russian followed suit. From his office in the Pentagon, buried beneath so much dirt and concrete that most of the people who worked in the building above had no idea that it existed, Jack O'Neill buried his face in his hands and sighed.

"You know, I can speak to him instead, if you want," offered Woolsey.

"No," replied Jack. "He's my friend. I'll talk to him. Besides, I promised Teal'c I'd take him fishing when we both had time." The former member of SG-1 failed to mention that that was over three months ago. Time sure flied when you were in charge of an entire planet's safety and security.

Both of them remained silent for a while. Neither of them could really process this. Here Jack was, potentially about to accuse his best friend, the man who'd given so much, and the man he'd given so much to, of being responsible for the deaths of hundreds of human beings. It was madness!

"Assuming that the _Thor_ was fighting Free Jaffa ships, for whatever reason," said Woolsey, "it's still possible that Teal'c has nothing to do with this. It could be a rogue faction of Jaffa, or perhaps the _Thor_ and the Jaffa were fighting together, against someone else."

"Speaking of which, have you been able to figure out what the hell the IOA's orders to Lorne were?" questioned O'Neill.

"No," said Woolsey, a surprising amount of bitterness in his voice. "Apparently some in the IOA think that, ever since my tenure as Commander of the Atlantis Expedition, I've become less reliable, too reckless, too..."

"Too much like us?" said Jack, an obscenely smug grin on his face. "I guess after all this time, we're finally rubbing off on you."

Woolsey rolled his eyes, though he did nothing to deny the General's accusations. "In truth, ever since Atlantis arrived on Earth they've been looking for someone else to lead the Expedition. The process has been halted by some issue in the paperwork." At this point in the conversation, Woolsey began to fidget ever-so-slightly. "An issue which I may or may not have been partly responsible in creating..."

O'Neill outright guffawed in the middle of his office, an action which caused his personal assistant outside to nearly jump out of her seat. Woolsey, for his part, smiled bashfully, suddenly realizing how much he'd changed over the years. "I've come to think of Atlantis as a sort of... second home. I guess the place starts to grow on you in time."

"Yeah," agreed O'Neill. "Carter said the same thing when she got back."

For a brief moment the two sat in companionable silence, a sort of silence which, just a few decades ago, these two men would've never dreamed they'd share. "Say, who was the Russian?"

O'Neill shrugged. "Apparently he was involved in the Russian Stargate Program, before it was combined with its American counterpart. If I remember correctly, he also served in the Russian Army and the KGB. Why do you ask?"

"I've never met him before," said Woolsey, "Strange."

"Indeed," remarked O'Neill, borrowing his best friend's best-known catchphrase. "I didn't think there was anyone in the IOA you didn't know."

"Neither did I."

The General's train of thought was interrupted by a polite knock on the door. "Sorry Dick, I'll talk to you later." The two exchanged good-byes and their conference call, a signal travelling millions of light-years in a matter of moments, was suddenly cut. Jack told whoever was at the door to enter. As he expected, his personal assistant, a young but competent airman who held a shocking resemblance to General Carter in both looks and intellect, put down a report on O'Neill's desk. The General opened the file, ignoring the typical stamp declaring the documents within "Top Secret." As he read, he almost appeared to age with each sentence. He swore under his breath, putting down the file with enough force that his secretary knew immediately that if someone hadn't already died, someone else was going to die very soon.

"Which one of our ships is closest?" questioned the Commander of Homeworld Command.

"The _George Hammond_ and the _Pedro II_ , sir."

O'Neill rolled his eyes at the coincidence. Of course they were. "Inform General Carter that Captain Silva will need to continue the investigation on his own for now. She's needed elsewhere."

The young woman raised an eyebrow. "Where sir?"

"P3X-042," said the General, the tone of his voice shifting as his statement became a command. "Now."


End file.
